The K Diaries
by tangoedup
Summary: What would selected entries taken from Kate's diary reveal about her personality, past struggles and about her personal process of falling in love with Caroline. This is an attempt at exploring a possible answer to this question. Enjoy :) Disclaimer : These characters belong to Sally Wainwright. I m only borrowing them for this story.
1. The K Diaries : Fall to Winter

SEPTEMBER 2011

...

There are only a few days that separate me from that life. The new life that I have chosen for myself. The one that I have been working on for the past three years. It's crazy how quick it went. Orientation week was brutal, everything and everyone being completely new and part of the

many elements my brain needs to absorb in very little time, but at the same time, this feeling of strange familiarity.

Come to think of it, it's not so different. It's true, Phyllis was right. Is right. I mean the spotlights aren't there, nor is Mark singing next to me, drenched in thick bloodlike sweat. My Wurlitzer is missing too , although the school has a remarquable grade 8 that i might be able to lay my hands on. No keys ready to wail at my caress here just yet, though. Yeah that one hurts a little bit maybe. That thought. But I m happy Linda is playing it somewhere, my Wurlitzer, even now maybe. Taking it on her journey. Worrying about it being dropped on the floor by a careless roadie, instead of me.

But i've decided now. I have. Never would have thought it could be so easy.

Walking through the corridors during orientation, i could almost see the adolescent I was twenty years ago, looking at me in disbelief.

First day of class tomorrow. 9F, good thing Michael warned me. Have the worse stage fright! It is very much like a stage I guess. But a stage where i can't hide behind Mark anymore , or behind my instrument.

Im glad of what I found with Phillis during that intense cession a few weeks ago: teaching is like orchestrating a score within each student, creating a new world in them, a new tonality in which they can reinvent themselves, and explore who they are.

Just like in the band, I am an indispensable part of all the elements needed for the piece to be complete. Without me the show can't take place. It s just a different kind of show.

Im glad Caroline gave me a chance. It s also scary that she would. Pretty crazy in fact how fluid the whole thing has been. How she would take a chance on me, just like that. To think I almost didn't apply. I do have the credentials but so many people must have applied with comparable or more experience….I wonder what did it, apart from the musical background of course.

...

I did it, I survived. A full week. The smell of coffee is everywhere in the language center. I like that, the morning routine. The cadence of this life. I do feel like i am wearing a costume sometimes. The Miss McKenzy costume. I am performing in many ways, yet again. When I am in the corridors and a pupil calls me out, it still surprises me. Feel like i could just go to sleep every time i come home, though. And most of the times, I don't resist the urge. It's that intense. But very proud of myself. Maybe the tiredness comes from all the rewiring happening in my mind. I know that it isn't that again. I can feel it. Not depression again. Just facing myself, the choices that I have made for myself, that I am making. I hope i can do this.

That little girl in 9F, Denise, gave me this sharp unforgiving look yesterday. It was by far the worst class of the week. She could be an other version of me at her age. An uber confident version of myself at her age. Maybe that is why it hurt so.

But I have decided yesterday that it is true, i do love it all, the marine blue uniforms stiff with starch, students whose voices burst and bounce along the glossy hallways.

After all these years, when the bell rings my heart still jumps. Fear. Wonder where it comes from exactly. Was I that scared as a little girl? How much of that fear is still there ? Maybe it just reminds me that time hasn's sat still.

OCTOBER 2011

...

Writing from this beautiful retro coffeehouse not far from school, Henrietta's. I chose the table close to the window from which you can see the reddening leaves of the trees in the park from so close, you feel like you can almost stretch your hand out and touch them. I almost feel like an expatriate here, everything is so different from London. I can make my own life here, i feel protected somehow. From myself mainly. Sometimes the loneliness leaves me breathless though. I try to remind myself that the felt emptiness is necessary, for now. That I made room for beautiful things to come into my life. I try to relax in it….

…

Still a lot of unwanted dizzying S. thoughts though, but doing much better. Far, very far from days where living without her, without the possibility of us, seemed like an unbearable thought, that would stop me in my tracks, pulled me from any of the activity I was still able to have to leave me laying down in a featal position on my bed for hours on end. Seems almost unreal to think that in March, that was my reality. Maybe due to actually being so close to my new life being real. Being lived. I know better than to claim victory just yet. I know that the abyss is still very real. That going back there, to the world shrinking in on me, is possible. Phyllis was very clear.

Richard rung again. So strange to hear happiness in his voice, to realize we are there already, able to speak to each other like that again. After the whole tearing each other apart. At least he is. Always feel like this big warning sign is popping out each time i do indeed take the call. That before we know it, we could be there again. Poking at each other's wounds and calling it love.

Maybe that's really what we needed. For it to be written down somewhere. That we are free from each other. For us to be able to share this way again.

While talking to him I was thinking of the morning when I got them. The divorce papers in my brand-new mail box. The relief, but also this very peculiar sense of sadness. How they sat in my handbag for a week before I decided to finally file them.

His joy and apprehension when he told me that Emily was 24 weeks pregnant. I was expecting to hurt but very strangely, this healed something for me. Made me feel more hopeful. Genuinely happy for them. Like finally one of us has won that battle that we had been fighting for so long before we gave in, and found ourselves empty, with only scars to look at. No medals.

He asked about S. I told him how S left me. How she went back to the US.

The comfort of knowing that I don't have to explain. That he knows. Just by hearing me speak about her.

S. Is far. She will never be mine, I will never be hers. She will never want us, like that, together again and that is OK. She will never want my skin against hers, not like I want it. And that is OK.

Getting there I guess. Still quite painful I am afraid. (…)

November 2011

Writing from the desk of my new haven. My "room of one's own". My shelter. Boxes are still everywhere. Tons of choices to make. Mom's expression when she saw the new house, when she visited it with me. The relief in her smile, thinking that maybe I was indeed going to be okay. Haven't felt that free since York. Just bought a Zanele MUHOLI photograph for my house warming present to myself. Soon the tender embrace of these two women washing in a bucket will be the horizon of my study.

(…) Horrible nightmare this morning. S. rejecting me again, I was stuck in this monstrous fair, full of different rides, loud music, extremely crowded. Also kind of felt like a venue whose green room I was trying to find. S. was there, we were there together. It felt completely normal in my dream, although it never actually happened, us, like that, together. And suddenly I lost her, she was walking ahead of me. Not waiting for me, purposely trying to lose me in the crowd. I called her , shouted till it hurt in my dream. She never turned back.

I woke up to the nausea of her loss lodged deep in my throat. Again.

(...)

Loved loved loved that moment with Caroline yesterday! She got me a nice selection of gourmet teas for the house. Mumbled something about it being for me to be able to make acceptable tea for future guests. She won't let me forget how I commented that I loved the disgusting tea that we were served when we went to Henrietta's together to speak about the end of the year concert. Loved everything about it. How she downplayed the whole thing and almost threw the present in my lap while avoiding eye contact.

She popped in almost everyday on my first week, now that I think about it. Last Friday, she pulled me back from a bad place. Letting me know what an excellent job I was doing and urging me not to be too hard on myself. Telling me, reminding me, that classes that don't go well are part of the job specially in the beginning. She scares me a lot too. There's this anger about her that is likely to erupt at any given moment. She's quite glorious when it does but it's also scary. I get on really well with the other teachers, Michael especially, but I'm not part of any clique yet. I suspect that it will not happen. I'm a bit of an oddity really. A suspicious Rock Band past, divorced, no trace of any children, biracial and possibly gay….Michael is quite nice but he's certainly not discreet. I should definitely keep that in mind. The the london extraction doesn't make things any better I suppose. Caroline's an oddity too in some respects. She makes me laugh so hard at times.

Could be completely off but feel like she takes special care of me. Like the idea of that of course.

Probably completely off of course. Like her courage though, her strength. Wonder what her husband is like. I've heard they just split up. Something about him leaving for another woman.

Certainly a breath of fresh air compared to the boys club i had been stuck with in the band for more than a decade! I like working in an environment where strong women fits the description of 70 percent of the staff ! I also find the whole decorum of the posh British School quite endearing. Reassuring. If only Mark could see me! And the band!

…

DECEMBER 2011

Felt like i had misplaced something all day. Looked for my reading glasses before leaving for school. Made sure my keys were in my bag about ten times. Made sure i had all the material for each class. knew that I had packed my lunch. Wondered if maybe I owed someone some money or if it was forgetting an important birthday. Finally when I got home i realized: non one S. thought. Not in days. Not sure how I feel about it. It s not there pounding, anymore, the loss. I can think of her and not ache.I wonder what is left. I wonder how strong is the scar tissue. How resistant.

JANUARY 2012

So, not sure i should even write this down. Writing it makes it more real than I want it to be. That's why I've avoided the diary the whole month of December. Writing Makes me feel even more vulnerable. Means i can't keep pretending to myself like I have. Phillis would probably wonder if my pathologic need for intensity isn't at play. But yes, something is happening. Has happened. I don t know how it has, really. There was a shift for sure. At least for me. Just cannot pinpoint when it took place. Well, Something has been there, since the beginning really. Since laying eyes on her to be precise. Caroline. A sense of relief maybe. Deep rooted. An openness too. Eery familiarity. Or maybe i'm just a sucker for well clad snotty 40 something women.

I think I was just far too preoccupied with intruding Sarah thoughts to see it before. Blinded almost. But it was there then. Its been there since. Something was never neutral between us. For me.

It s a little bit the same as with Sarah, and this is what scares me potentially. Repeating that, the Sarah paradigm. But mid november, it shifted, slipped rather, into something else. It's all because of music again. Bumped into her at this Chamber music concert. She was there alone. She said something about how she'd gotten a membership with John and her mother hadn't wanted to come with. When I found her there, on my way, when she had already been on my mind, something lifted I think. It was very peculiar, physical almost. She invited me to join her for the mid december concert …and just like that I started counting.

« Did she look at me a bit longer today? Did she check me out just now? Am I making the whole thing up? If i leave exactly at 3.05 on friday i could actually bump into her since that's what happened two weeks ago. I haven't seen her in three days now, what on earth could I invent, to see her. I can go another day without seeing her, If nothings happened on thursday i'll just go to her office and mention the end of the year concert…. » It's a wonder really that even with that, even with the counting, I still was fooling myself.

I was quite happy pretending to myself that I was just caring about my new friend that happens to be my boss. I indulged happily in her self centered rents on her philandering husband, her worry about her children, mother, house, you name it; all the while vaguely aware that they were becoming necessary for me, those moments where I can be with her, close to her and take everything in. Her wit, her laughter, her scent, the way her voice alone can make me shiver. The questions that keep popping when she speaks to me, at me rather, most of the time, "I wonder how they taste, her lips, how soft exactly?" It s frightening really the level of denial I am capable of, even after all the coming out process.

Eventually, I found out the same way as I did with Sarah. Counterintuitively. Not with how I felt and thought everyday really. But it was the pain, as usual, that ended up sobering me up. Again. It was the pain that made the rest impossible to ignore any longer. Her smile that i could hear over the phone, that I could picture to myself thanks to all the time i studied how it modifies her voice, when she explained that she had a date, that she couldn't make friday night after amazingly, she'd been asked out by one of Gavin's friends that didn't seem like a complete mess, and that she was going to take _him_ to the concert. That she hoped I didn't mind. That she hadn't dated in decades and had no idea what to wear, that she was hoping we could see each other on thursday after school instead. The nausea all of a sudden. The anger creeping in slowly. I had enough self respect to say, pretend rather, that thursday was impossible for me. That I was already taken. The disappointment in her voice. The silent " i thought you'd be happy for me" she didn't utter.

This is where it stops though, the Sarah parallel. I'll keep my distance from now on. I _will_ protect myself this time. No indulging anymore. She'll barely notice I'm sure. I Want moré, deserve moré than that.

But i do, pathetically I might add, wonder what's she'll wear. Maybe that exquisite see through shirt and the beige skirt...

...


	2. The K Diaries : Winter Continued

JANUARY 2012 (continued)

It's happened. I know it's happened. I'm sure it's happened. But I feel the need to retrace the sequence.

Something is missing for me to fully comprehend, fully grasp how we got there. How we allowed ourselves to get there. To open the door.

At Henrietta's again, writing, these words with a brand new Lamy fountain pen. I love how it slides on my Moleskine notebook page. Complete with my cappuccino this is utter luxury. Although this has become my late Saturday morning ritual, today is different, it feels like a celebration really, I m just the only guest.

When Sadie brought my cappuccino to the table just now, I realized I had been writing with my index pressed right there where Caroline's lips were yesterday. My lips feel bruised somehow, bitten by the warm want I tasted there. Burnt by the soft caress of her thumb where our lips had joined, and where her eyes rested, right after it ended. Before the school bell rung. Before it brought us both back to the surface. Back from the deep deafening wave we had sunk into. Where I could only hear the noise or my heart pounding, and then the soft brushing of our lips, and then, as our kiss deepened, after the initial shock of the unbearable softness there, then the faint cry of our mingling saliva as our mouths opened and pulsed rhythmically against each other, softly.

How the bell brought all the sounds rushing, back to my ears, the voices of the students and their loud footsteps in the corridors. And how my body fell right back into motion. But how my mind has staid there, since then. How it willingly lingers. Marvels at the dizziness each time it goes, tries to go over it. The fall, the dip my senses take each time.

Reading the entry I wrote before this one again, right after the phone call I'm reminded of how hopelessly tentative the whole process felt before, how painfully clumsy. And now, one kiss later, a mere contraction of compact seconds later, it seems as if everything has lead to this, gently, smoothly.

I did dare. I did. Ironically, her date with Gavin's pal, whatever his name is, ended up pushing it out of me, when the cowardice just had put a nice lid on everything. Helped me put a stop to the farce. Helped me change the record. Accept that the thirst had been there. At least for me, and I am almost sure, for her. Avoiding her every chance I got, her and the heavy longing of our stares, wasn't hiding anymore. It was the pull of the water before the wave comes crashing on freshly soaked sand. The pull before the release, knowing it was coming. It had to come. Knowing that I would make us both look at it no matter how oblivious of it we had both been, and still wanted to be. But knowing I couldn't afford it anymore. Knowing that it was time to acknowledge it, the growing thirst for each other. In between the hesitation, and the hiding, not visible at all times but there nonetheless. Welling up, in the quiet uneasiness of our silences. In the stolen looks on each other's bodies, cleavage, legs, lips, eyes, backs. Above all, paradoxically, in our shared avoidance of each other's touch. The thrilling heaviness of it.

I let all of this wash away, kept myself far from it, suddenly angry at her, and at myself, I let the bitterness simmer.

And sure enough she came to me. Yesterday, right before my last class towards the end of my free period. Ready to pretend. Or rather, ready to pick the song up where we had left it. As we had left it.

She had this questioning look in her eyes I had rarely if ever, seen before.

She was tucked in that black skirt that falls lower under her knee than the other ones, and I remember that she pulled on her belt nervously as she walked in.

And that s when I did, as gently as possible, to my own surprise, change our tune.

When I answered that I was happy her date was horrible, after she told me it was, she laughed right away. She seemed unaware of the change of mode in my voice yet. She laughed her high-pitched almost girly laugh. Seemed relieved then, like she was happy that we could still do that together, go there, that we still had that, that it hadn' t been lost in that gap that had formed between us since the phone call.

When the laughter died out, I felt her try to ignite it again, she said it'll serve her well, that she did dump her only friend for a stupid blind date after all.

I waited. I could taste the bitterness in my mouth. I looked at her, not flinching, not apologizing, not hesitating. I said « Is that what happened? Is that the lesson? » She looked at me, visibly startled. I remember that she said « Yes, well I _am_ sorry about that Kate it was …silly» like only she can say these things, with just as much utter contempt as sincere regret.

I remember my voice, still in this new mode, maybe Dorian if I had to pick, when I added «I don't think so, Caroline, I don't think that's what happened at all ».

She looked at me, now in full Dr. Elliot mode, invisible soldiers inside her mind already leveling the walls of the fortress, I knew that time was of the essence then, that soon enough, all entrance would be shut. That's when I did tell her " I don't think it was silly. I think you were happy to cancel on your "only friend" for a more acceptable date.» The words shot through my mouth, fast, even, measured, the mode, becoming more and more familiar now although still unheard between us before. Her face completely froze, she asked « What do you mean?» I saw fear in her eyes, all of a sudden. I said « Never mind Caroline! » And I just started leaving the room. Turning my back on her. I took a few steps and then realized that I was going to do this. Claim this, for myself, for us. Even if I could still hear all the reasons why I shouldn't, at that moment it was just a distant clamour. Even if it meant risking it all between us, jumping off that cliff.

I turned back.

It felt like I was driven, somehow, by this instinct, rather than in full control. I remember avoiding her questioning stare and just aiming for her lips, but I have no idea how I ended up cupping my hands around her face, when, exactly. But I did. They were still there when the school bell rang although I know I let them go as soon as I felt her kiss me back, respond. As soon as I felt her join me in the wave.

When the bell did ring, and my heart skipped, and she swiftly removed her thumb from my lips; seconds before the first students stormed into the room, I remember that, although I kept trying, I couldn't wipe away the smile from my face. She left; the shock of her heals even harsher on the floor than usual. She had her back to me and I don t know if it was there too. If like me she just couldn't wipe her smile away. But it heard it, flickering in her voice when she called, five minutes after my last class. She asked directly, no hesitation, in this new, now shared, mode of ours. " Kate, are you doing anything tomorrow night? "


	3. The K diaries : 3 days in febuary

Big thank you to all the tangofic fans who left reviews and messages, those who just love Sally's characters, which is already reassuring about the state of this world, and those who write so beautifully. Please keep it coming in any shape or form, i love reviews, i love discussing with other tangofic fans. For those interested, would love to hear about what is different for you about this show, the way you ve experienced it?

Let me know if you feel like it :)

* * *

FEBUARY 2013

* * *

Day 1 : "Spring Can Really Hang you up The Most"

* * *

I cant believe it's happened again. Falling, Falling completely again, all my heart plus some, for someone who obviously doesn't even think we are a thing. I mean what is it? What do I find so irresistibly attractive in that situation? Granted it's a bit different this time, she's not still in love with her estranged wife like Sarah was, no, it's actually worse than that, much more humiliating: she just «can't go there»! Simply cannot. Won't. Any excuse will do. Can't see us together as something valuable enough that she would actually want to pursue it, put an ounce of effort into it. I mean she called us « the other thing »for god's sake! That's what we are to her essentially. Something that shouldn't even be named.

Very smart Kate! Thought I had read between the lines. Thought I had uncovered a rare brand of unspoken yet incredibly deep love. Fooling myself yet again like a bloody teenager, more like it. The lines were never there! Idiot! She doesn't even care enough to stick to words she uttered last bloody week! I'm just some toy she tossed aside when she got tired of playing bi-curious Caroline, lest the neighbors should hear. Decorum of the posh British school not so endearing after all.

She doesn't even care enough to actually consider turning down her cheating lying pathetic excuse of a husband, who actually had the nerve to come back to her, after what he's done. Not because he loves her, not because he misses her, but because his mistress is an alcoholic! I mean what kind of a come back line is that? He didn't even _try_ to make is sound like something remotely romantic or heartfelt, from what she said. But I guess, it was good enough for her. Better than us. Sufficient. More appealing. I mean Sarah at least, had a decent reason to leave. She left me because she was in love with someone else, her wife as it turns out. But Caroline? I mean I don't even get it. She stopped everything between us before we could we could even start anything, without even giving us a proper chance, and for what? I mean she can't even stand him anymore, let alone love him. I wouldn't' t be surprised if they made the tabloids one day. «Gruesome murder, Yorkshire headmistress kills husband after he mucks up spotless kitchen!»

Like coming out wasn't hard enough. Like breaking Richard's heart wasn't enough. Like having to stand there and listen to him stab himself with the images he could conjure up of our love making, of Sarah and I. Like watching the slow realization settling in and the cold anger turn into deep sadness wasn't enough. Like telling him: "No , I don't want you anymore, Sarah's maybe is better than your forever, Richard. Yes, her skin on mine, more than our five years of marriage. Yes her mouth everywhere, her pussy on my tongue, is worth all of that. It's true, this is what I want, this is why I m leaving.» telling him all of that every other way than verbally, like that wasn't enough. Like Sarah changing her mind on me wasn't enough, like her deserting me was just the hors d'oeuvre. I had to get myself more of that, please. I had to feel what it is to be rejected because of what the neighbors might think. I feel like I'm stuck in a parody of a Victorian novel. It's ironic that I got her the Ann Lister diaries.

Another small less than charming detail I may have been well inspired to look into before is this one: she never, ever asks anything about me. I mean past what she knows through being my boss, she never asks and obviously doesn't need any kind of information about me. The woman probably knows more about her banker than she does about me. Doesn't that tell you something Kate?

Without even going there, to her conspicuous less than impressive interest for who I happened to be, apart from the occasional snog at recess that she seems to enjoy, I could have maybe stopped myself at another pretty convincing bloody detail. I mean, she is, after all, my boss. My superior. Some people just stop there, right there. Accept that it simply is a bad idea. No matter how charming their superior is, they just step aside, move on, keep walking. Or just keep it as a cute little crush, knowing anything more would be a waste of their valuable time and energy, send them the odd New Year's Eve card, or a even a birthday present.

But no, that's not me. Who wants requited love, that's so cliché. Not for me thank you very much. No, I'll just ignore the hundreds of probably adorable, available, ready to commit, emotionally apt OUT LESBIANS in Yorkshire to focus on no other than …..My uninterested boss. My heterosexual boss at that, not yet divorced, and getting further and further away from being divorced, who may have had one or two girl crushes decades ago. That seems like a much better plan.

Tired, oh so tired of it all. And it s only ten to ten in the bloody morning, got dumped, taught 9F! Pretty shitty day so far.

What would really help is if «Try a little tenderness» could stop playing like a broken record in my head. It felt so good this morning, when I was singing to it in the car driving up to school, but now it sounds like a bad joke that won't stop. Dad loved this tune so much. I wish I could at least stop crying like a heartbroken seventeen year old. Still have the whole day to go, and now have to apply make up again. If it could only stop. Interesting gymnastics to write with one hand and wipe the tears with the other. Getting quite good at it I am afraid. I'm going to have to leave this empty classroom in twenty minutes and go to the staff room for that meeting. I has to stop by then. I pray that it does.

You have to grant it to John, though, his timing is perfect! Bloody Valentine's Day! I don't think she even realized. I really wish I hadn't googled him. I wouldn't have to know what an arrogant prick he seems to be right now, how shallow. I feel like such an idiot. I guess I can just keep it, the book. I'll just give the scarf to mom. I mean what's wrong with a stupid chocolate box, Kate. No, I had to go all out. Spend two free afternoons looking for the perfect presents. I know it'll pass, I know that I'll get over it but I am worried. I'm worried at the part of me that still feels like ringing her, telling her to please reconsider, that surely she didn't mean that.

Pathetic.

Make up cession number two.

* * *

DAY 2 : "Blue in Green"

* * *

On days like this, running the pen on paper, letting the ink flow, feels like my anchor, my boat. Keeps me from drowning. Now that I have let the anger out, now that the sadness is slowly taking place, now that the hurt has lessened, I must admit that part of me knew it was coming. Knew she wasn't ready, that it was too much, too quick, even for me in a way. The intensity of it. The signs were there. Far from subtle ones too. The older and wiser lesbians chorusing in my head had been warning me countless times «hum, going from the heartbroken married hard butch still in love with her wife to the 46-year-old bicurious high femme het with baby lesbian potential? Internalized homophobia much? ...Kate, are you sure you want to do this? I mean she can't even say the word gay or lesbian without looking around to make sure no one's overheard! »

Good thing I had my make up with me, cause it wasn't the last cession yesterday. Cried again in the staff room and improved my day dramatically by telling Michael when tearful and hurt, about us. I wish I hadn't. Really.

Her look when I told her this morning. When I told her the details of it. Well when she got them out of my pathetic stuttering self more like it. Avoiding me, avoiding to look straight at me. I almost fell over trying to follow her down the stairs. She does the angry and stern self-righteous headmistress so well. Her « You're gonna have to say it » still rings in my ears. But it was there, in her expression when she broke up with me yesterday and when she confronted me about Michael today. A strange mix of arrogance and shame, avoiding my stare, dismissing me. Yesterday, looking at her, in shock after she said it "I'm not ready …..to go there" I could feel her relief at the prospect of being safe again, of regaining the reassuring misery of her married life, comfortable and socially rewarding enough for her. And it made me so angry, so angry at her. Clenched jaw angry. Almost scared myself when I looked into the mirror to reapply. Of course that's when I do cry the most, when I am angry.

As angry as I was, I'm the one who asked if she was cross about Michael and how I divulged, today in the corridor. How she didn't look at me, then and just said "No" and how instead of making me even angrier, at her, at the whole situation, her look, or the lack thereof, how she stared at my chest instead of my eyes, as if looking for something she'd lost, before she whispered, "no" and left, made me stumble and fall all over again, for her.

Somhow, knowing she's choosing this over us out of fear, out of a need for security doesn't make things any easier to accept.

She still doesn't want this.

It s still « not her » although it s also « not not her ». I guess it would be laughable if it wasn't so painful.

* * *

DAY 3 : "Try a little tenderness"

* * *

My decision is taken. I'm going to let it be. I've decided really, I've decided it's ok to be daft. I m going to let myself be wrong a bit more. Indulge. Not because I'm hopeless. Not because I don't want to hear what she had to tell me when she broke up with me two days ago. Or because I don't respect her boundaries, or her and who she is and what she wants right now. I don't really know why, but I know I will, let myself. Try a little tenderness.

I really wonder what it is. What makes me so hopeful still? What makes me think she's going to call again? What makes me believe that when she does I will answer and we'll just pick up from wherever we left off? Despite the fact that she couldn't have been clearer. That from now on we could be friends, "obviously", but nothing more. Is it pure blindness? An all-too-familiar form of madness already? Why is it that I cannot let go? Why is it that if it doesn't happen, I think I'd rather look for a job somewhere else than to have to look at that, the reminder of the lack of her in my life, everyday. When if fact, in all honesty, I actually barely know her.

I mean I could count the moments that we've spent together on my two hands. If you put them together back-to-back, I probably wouldn't have enough to fill a whole day. I know that. Even though if I added the daydreaming, the wishful thinking, the fantasizing, we'd probably be talking entire weeks.

If I think of the real reason, I know that it's not rational. It s not anything I could explain to someone other than myself. And even that is difficult. I think it has to do with this feeling that something resonates when we are together. She doesn't ask questions, direct ones. It's true. But there is such precision, in her presence; in the way she speaks to me sometimes. How she asked a few weeks back « Is this your idea of a winter coat Kate? I mean it's really pretty but you'll catch death! This is Yorkshire you know!» Before I knew it she just grabbed her beige cashmere scarf that was hanging in her office, one of her favorite ones that I always see her with, and just slowly wrapped it around my neck. How she let go a little bit too slow for it to be conveniently disguised under the motherly persona she likes to use with me as a pretext, and smiled almost sadly. Her perfume on it. How I pretended I had forgotten it for days to keep it a bit longer and when I did return it, how she said that I should keep it. I could just tell she wanted me to have it, to know that I wear it. The silent approval in her eyes each time she sees me with it. Yes, somehow, this precision in her presence, the way she conveys that, to me, feels more tangible than a five pages long love declaration. The effect she has on me really.

How the time zone felt like it changed when she came over. I knew when I saw her walk to my door that it was a fight, that it wasn't easy. Something about the hesitation in her stride up to my porch, the weakness of her smile. I pictured her picking up her phone to cancel several times before finally giving in and driving herself to my place, probably out of a concern for etiquette just as much as out of her desire to see me. I knew that half of her really wanted to keep things as they were before our kiss, the minute our eyes met, and she was standing there in my kitchen, vulnerable, nervous, slightly reproachful.

But she did come. I can't forget that. Erase it. Pretend, as she is trying to do now, that it didn't happen. There was no steamy love making. No deep heartfelt declaration of everlasting love. Just a wine and cheese pique nique on my sofa, listening to arias by La Callas and swapping stories of old love and deep loss. Of missed occasions and failed attempts to forgive ourselves, others. After a few glasses, she told me about Indira, her girlfriend from Oxford. I could tell when she was reminiscing, sipping on imaginary wine out of her empty glass, that she was so surprised that this teenager she had been was still here, that this girl she barely acknowledged consciously for all these years was still there, after all. I felt her flinch at the realization that her pain was there too, not any kind of pain, the dull ache of self inflicted betrayal kind. I can't forget how she told me she thought she would be safe that way. At the time. That if she stopped things there, were they were with Indira, after her disastrous attempt at a coming out to Celia, then she would be safe. That she could chose something less daunting, something easier.

How she said that in a way it was. John, the children, their life together. But that they were always there, in the sour moments in particular. The questions. "What if she had lead this other life? Would the emptiness, the gaping hole in her spirit, be less acute? Where was Indira now?" She wasn't avoiding my eyes anymore when she told me that our kiss brought all of this back to her. That she was terrified but couldn't stop thinking about it since it happened. I felt her relief almost physically, when I reassured her, my hand caressing her cheek, when I said that we could take it slow and be as discreet as she needed. That I respected her, her boundaries. I had meant to change the record before she got there. I hadn't meant to make everything so bloody tragic, I mean Maria Callas' "les airs de la folie!" Nice work Kate! Nice and light! Bloody 9F class prep was the only reason I was even listning to it before she got there. Something about the highs and lows of her arias makes me calm down. Funny how 9F is quickly becoming a metaphor of how everything can go horribly wrong in our relationship when we least expect it. I was going to change the record but something stopped me. Something about how precarious our balance was, like two tightrope walkers really. A vague feeling that any drastic change to the flow of the evening could very well result in her suddenly getting up and inflicting one of her imperious " I've got to go!" liners, accompanied by a nice specimen in her impressive range of excuses. So it was playing the whole time, when I had planned on putting some bossa nova, some Caetano Veloso even. When I took her glass from her hand the first movement of the strings had just started the aria leading to La Callas' first gut renching "Ebben, Ne Andro lontana…" fom La Wally, when our lips met. This time, here was something almost choreographed about our kiss, the surrender of it embracing each movement of Maria's voice and the orchestra dancing around it, the incredible dizzying heights, the aching lows. Her lips were soft and warm and tasted of Chinon.

So I think this is why I'll do it, because of what I heard and saw that night. What I perceived of what being together could be that night. Because I trust that. Because I feel like she needs me to. We need me to. Because I know that it is scary, I have been scared myself not so long ago, I remember although it is an effort. It's so easy to forget once you've overcome it. When I think about it, I didn't have a high-profile job or two teenage boys and a judgmental live-in mother. And I was still terrified. To say "this is me". To let my mother down in a new devastating way. Not only am I not the new Clara Haskil and tossed my grade 8 classical musicianship to go play in a rock band, not only am I unable to give you precious grandchildren, but I am also not even able to keep a husband who loves me and stick to a sexuality that is acceptable.

The tears she couldn't stop shedding for weeks, like part of me, her perfect Kate, died that day. It's a strange thing to see yourself die in your mothers eyes.

I don't want that, this fear, if that is indeed what stands between us, to get the last word So I'll do it , I'll cling to it a bit more.

I'll try a little tenderness.

Because I need it. Because I won't let her erase it. What we had, what we still have.

Like the shadow erasing it all, ruthlessly, methodically, all the memories, from dad's beautiful mind. All the things that are him, that are me, even the ones I don't know about, the ones he was probably keeping for later. I know they're being erased too, and there is nothing I can do about it.

Probably because I cannot stand to lose one more of those anymore if I can help it.

One more of these moments.

Because I refuse, I won't participate in the amnesia she's proposing.

Because for one evening and two kisses, an eternity in fact when I compare it to what I ever felt for Richard over the course of our marriage, everything made sense.


	4. Coming into Spring: The hours

Hi Tangofic lovelies, thank you so much for the heart warming reviews, careful passionate reading and amazing fiction you keep writing.

Here is my version of Kate and Caroline's steamy afternoon in Season 1 , K diary style but a tad bit more graphic than previous chapters, Really hope you enjoy it :)

* * *

28th Febuary 2012, Harrogate,

Dearest Sarah,

I feel like writing you these words, here, in my diary. Probably because I know beforehand that it will be another one of those unsent letters. The ones I kept on my desk for so long and are now sitting in a drawer somewhere. The ones where I kept trying to find what happened to us. Looking for answers. Until the silence itself, became an answer, and everything finally sunk in. I know I won't send it. Not because i don't have the courage to do so. But because it's too late now. I know that.

My love for you, my passion, seems so far away now. Like a distant dream. I think of how I had hoped for that day, for some kind of godsent amnesia, some cure, that would free me from it.

And now it's here. Something about last night washed it away for good. I feel vaguely guilty. Not towards you, not really, I know you would be thrilled for me. But towards the everlasting love I had sworn. I m glad that the spell is off, but also dumbfounded.

I think I am writing to tell you about her. About making love to her, last night. How she caught me off guard. How she almost kidnapped me. There was something hypnotic about her yesterday. About the emotional state she was in.

I want to tell you how it was. How different it was. It wasn't like you and I at all. Although I loved, and still love everything about you and I, about us. But how this time, it felt like each kiss, each touch, each sigh was a new word written on a crisp new white sheet of paper. Out of a completely new manuscript that we were writing together.

Sure, there are mistakes things we write and then cross out. Things we don't know how to formulate, a lot of hit and miss in the language we are trying to create.

But It didn't feel like random words you would draw on the napkin at a restaurant waiting for your dinner date to arrive and then forget to take with you as you leave.

Or even choose to actually leave there, because you know that although they were fun to write, they're not important, essential. They'll only clutter your space.

I did not feel her mind drift to other places than her own uncertainty, her own vulnerability when we made love.

She was not looking for the feel of somebody else's skin on mine, as you had been from the moment we met.

My skin was enough for her.

There was no prowess taught by years and years of pleasing women's bodies, quenching their thrust, like there was with you. But no going through the motions either.

Every kiss every sigh, every touch was conquered, and for us only. I know that she gave me everything she could. I know that when her climax came and washed her senses, and the wave pulled back afterwards, there wasn't this rock still standing in the middle untouched, the water already clearing gently from its surface, like there was with you.

No rock to fight against.

As soon as she hung up and the laughter died on her lips, sooner than on mine, I recognized the burning hunger rising in her eyes. The same one that was burning there in her office earlier that day.

How painfully aroused I was for the rest of the day. How any real focus was almost impossible to achieve. Visions of her hand fingering my nipples irrupting at random, making me dizzy, and her "I want to make love to you right now", whispered just before Beverly came back with the tea, still burning my ear.

She grabbed me and pushed me against the entrance door, kissing me voraciously, imploring with every whimper for I don't know what. For things to go faster. For us to already be in bed, naked, at each other's disposal. As if she was almost afraid that the window would close again, that the epiphany that she had had that morning would leave, just as it had appeared, and it would take months and months for her to find this entrance to herself again.

I don't know how the erratic choreography of our bodies took us from the entrance door to lying naked on my bed. I remember blinding breathless kisses, our battling hands pulling desperately on fabric, to finally be able to take full open handed grasps on each other's offered flesh, hands flying on each other's neck, legs, faces, lips ...

She came so fast, as I was just teasing her, rubbing my thigh against her moist center, getting ready to feel her, taste her, that it surprised both of us. I left a trail of soft kisses all over her face, telling her that it was okay, that we had all the time in the world, but it wasn't enough to soothe her embarrassment she kept repeating "I'm sorry" and her tears came back, they were never really far. I thought of her that very afternoon tearful , sitting on the floor of her office right after our kiss, as my hand brushed against her cheek, and the emotional roller coaster the last 24 hours had been for her.

We were both lying naked, but our postures were quite the same as they had been in her office. Her looking away at the ceiling, her hands on her forehead. Wiping away the tears as her breath was becoming more laboured, and was finally letting the tears, that had been welling up over the past days, flow out of her. Fully. Me lying on my side next to her, propping my head up, to better look at her, with my left hand, and my right hand, the one I had been craving to feel her wetness with, sitting on her stomach, jerking with each one of her tearful gasps.

The salted tears I drank up on her cheek as I gave her soft kisses there, soothed my desire and for quite some time, we lay there, listening for her approaching relief. When it came, and my hand on her stomach had been rising and falling evenly like the flow of the Mediterranean Sea for a few minutes, I asked her, my lips brushing softly against her ear "Do you want to feel me inside….. now?" She nodded yes with a tentative smile her eyes leaving the ceiling for a few seconds. And so I did, slide one finger first slowly, tenderly, inside her, her slick pussy making me shiver with pleasure, the thump between my thighs almost unbearable.

Her hands were still there, resting on her eyes, not wiping away tears anymore but sheltering her from the magnitude of the wave that was coming maybe. Or perhaps, from the aching realization as it was happening, that even though she'd never experienced it before, she had been missed this sensation, another woman's fingers inside her, for all these years. Realizing she'd been craving for something she'd never known before, until now. Just like when she ripped off my bra and for a few seconds our dance was interrupted a few meters away from the bed, as she stood, looking at my chest, transfixed, her mouth obviously watering, as she had to swallow hard several times, before the urgency suddenly sent her back into motions and her tongue found my nipples. I could almost hear her mind race to all the times she'd imagined that moment before.

I thought of myself then. Of myself under your fingers, your knowing fingers. Of my first time with a woman.

It worked. The sheltering herself from her own resistance, clenched fists pressed on her closed eyelids, taking careful, silent, raspy breaths, keeping the gyration of her hips to a bare minimum, for as long as she could. She was so open to me, so dripping wet, so malleable, I could have easily slid my whole hand inside of her. But I decided to just keep to three fingers so I could still toy with her clit.

The trust it probably took to let me in like that.

When she started unraveling and she grabbed me by the neck punctuating every gasp with escalating cries of "oh my God" and "oh Kate! », her voice still so close to tears, I felt my heart swell to a painful size in my rib cage, until her release came in a violent riptide, flushing her entire body, arching her back, clenching her walls around my fingers in furious tugs, pushing a puddle of liquid warmth onto the bed sheet.

When I looked at her next, my fingers still inside of her, my hand drenched in her wetness, she had a look of horror on her face and kept apologizing . Saying she didn't know what happened. I slid my fingers out delicately, tenderly, and started showering her with all the words I could find of reassurance, of love, telling her how beautiful she was, how flattering this actually was. Her coming like that for me, with me.

I told her it was my first time too, touching a woman like that. I didn't mention you, just the fact that you didn't let me touch you. I didn' t want to say your name. I wanted everything to be just for us. Didn't want to invite anyone else in. The time will come when i will have to of course, tell her about you. In more details.

When her face relaxed and she even smiled a bit, realizing, I said "Darling, you really can't keep apologizing each time I make you come. » And then we just lay there, our bodies intertwined, my hands caressing the damp hair on her forehead and at her temple, soothing her yet again. She was so exhausted that she fell asleep and didn't even wake up when I got away to fix us something to eat.

I smiled at the puddles of clothes and lingerie I found scattered on my way down to the kitchen.

As I was preparing the fajitas, cutting each bell pepper, through their length, getting rid of unwanted flesh inside, I started thinking of the last time I had made this dish and realized I had made the same dish for us after making love more than once. Savoring each color between my fingers, red, green, yellow, I wondered how it came about, did the association start by devouring Zami, and Audre's lengthy descriptions of her lovemaking with Eudora in Mexico. Pealing an orange while the chicken was cooking, I thought of the mirroring sequence, between Audre's abject pain, at losing Bea; her hand that she kept on the burning stove so she could feel something else than the gaping whole in her heart, and her unexpected relief her rebirth in Afrekeke's arms. The comfort she found in their mingling brown hued skin. I thought of the parallel there.

How skin comes brushing against skin, and how porous love renders us.

I thought of the remains of the aching for your onyx hued skin on mine and how they were all dissolved that afternoon. How they were washed away in the uninterrupted fall of my smooth dark amber skin against hers. Her brown flecked creamy velvet under my fingertips.

Writing these words, I'm thrilled at the realization that I can finally perceive the blessing you have been in my life. Instead of the curse I was willing myself to forget. Last night finally lets me see that with distinct clarity. I m so grateful now, thinking of how, before I left that evening, after our first time, stunned, and already so taken by you, you put a copy of « Zami, a New Spelling of My Name » in my hands and simply said "Read it." I remember the defiance in my voice as I retorted "Why should I? " "Because it could change your life.» You answered. And of course you were so right about that. It did. I remember your obvious weariness at my coming out angst, that seemed so beneath your hard butch persona, with years of "leaving the life".

Everything in your physical attitude screamed seducing me had been fun, a welcomed distraction, but the rest was so tedious ... . How, even then, furious as I was by how dismissive you were, I was trying to edge the panic taking over as I sensed there was a very real possibility that I would never see you again. Already desperately taking in every detail I could before having to go; the broad muscular shoulders rippling under your tight T shirt and your almost boyish chest, the fine burnt brown dreadlocks tied on the nape of your neck one or two escaping the grip dangling around the fine bronze skin of your strong hands, already holding your true companion, the Nikon camera, your mind already drifting to the shooting your were thinking of as you held the entrance door of your flat open, for me to find my way out.

When I woke her up, knowing that she would have to get back soon, with soft kisses in her necks she was obviously disoriented and struggled to reconstruct the events, slowly emerging from the depth of a sleep deprived haze. It took her a while to realize where she was and what had happened. The large smile that bloomed on her face when she did was priceless. She cupped my face in her hands and kept repeating "You're here!" in disbelief.

I tried to tell her about the fajitas waiting for us downstairs as I fed her a bite of the orange I was eating when she grabbed me firmly by the collar of my shirt, pulling me in, drawing her lips, already opening for a kiss, millimeters from mine, and instead of kissing me, lingering there, our thirst welling up, breathing on each other, our lips almost touching, until I couldn't take it anymore and dove back into bed with her, our tongues dancing against each other in a passionate orange tasting kiss. She freed me from the shirt I had been wearing too cook and, taking control, straddled me, reverently caressing my breasts, with her hands, and hair, as she leaned down, and then started sucking on my nipples, telling me in between her kisses how sexy I was, how beautiful, how she had tried to imagine, but that she had been so far from it.

As she now lay on my side, cradling me with one arm, even with the night falling and the bedroom now being bathed in dark shades of grey, I saw her pupils darken to two pools of deep ocean blue as she reached down, cupping me first, her fingers playing with my pubic hair, taking in the sensation, then slowly, dipping in, caressing my swollen folds, her fingers tentative at first, her eyes looking for answers on my face, but then gaining assurance with every stroke as she found my clit, gasping for air just as much as I was.

I couldn't believe it when all of a sudden, her fingers were gone and seconds later I felt her mouth on me, devouring. Licking and sucking, tasting me for the first time, I was lost in the maddening pressure of her tongue that kept me on the edge of climaxing for what seemed like hours, when I heard a long loud cry, and realized it was coming from me when it died , my throat hoarse, my clit pulsing hard against her tongue, out of breath, I felt sated like I don't remember feeling in so long.

I pulled her back up and kissed her, tasting myself and the familiar taste of her tears on her lips. I remember that afterwards her first words were « I wish I could stay. » and I tried to make her feel better by answering « I'm not sure we would get a lot of sleep if you did Caroline, and I think you need a decent night of sleep after all this.»

But it did hurt, the thought of her having to leave. I thought of how different it was though. Her having to leave because of real constraints. Not needing to leave. Needing to be alone rather than with me.

How you were never really able to stay the night. Because there would have been no point. Because I just couldn't be the one to share that type of intimacy with you. Because even if she was thousands of miles away, she still took up all the room in your heart. We laid there, in silence, listening to each other's busy thoughts in the moonlit bedroom, as reality was slowly hitting us back, the school, classes to prepare, markings to do, William, Laurence, Dad's illness, Celia, bloody John, finding time to escape again and the logistics of it….. Until hunger pulled us out of bed and into the kitchen, to now cold fajitas.

I think i have found her Sarah. It's so early, I know. But I think I have. I think I know now what it meant. Why you couldn't let me in. And I know now that you really tried. I think of Caroline, of what we have, of what we have started writing together. And I know now that something took, in a way that I haven't known before. I can feel myself chose her, day after day, on so many stratified and intricate levels that I can't even fully decipher them yet. I'm too old to even entertain the idea that i couldn't be happy without her. But, I am also old enough to know, as you have shown me, that if we find the words, the ways to allow ourselves what we have been handed so graciously, this most precious thing, then we have a shot at what you and your wife have. I know that this doesn't come often in a lifetime, if at all.

Merci Chérie.

Kate


End file.
